


Time to Dance the Part

by Count_B



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-24
Updated: 2008-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28634112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Count_B/pseuds/Count_B
Summary: Mikey and Frank attend dance academy, studying ballet.





	Time to Dance the Part

As a guy in ballet class, Mikey knew he was a rarity, an oddity. Out of two dozen students in the average class, half the time he was the only boy. He didn't mind, but Mikey was so much taller than most of the dancers, and he didn't like having everyone's eyes on him. He'd just gotten a growth spurt, and it felt almost like he was relearning how to dance.  
  
On the first day in the pre-pointe class, Mikey was relieved he wasn't the only guy this time. He focused on the lesson and peeked a little from the corner of his eyes, trying not to envy the smooth energy the other guy moved with.  
  
After class, they headed into the locker room to get changed. "Hi," Mikey offered as he slipped off his shoes. "Do you like scary movies?"  
  
"Um." The guy blinked in the middle of peeling off his shirt. He was staring, and Mikey fidgeted, wondering if he shouldn't have talked. "Yeah."  
  
The guy smiled, and Mikey beamed back. "Kick ass! I'm Mikeyway."  
  
"Frank. Iero." He peeled off his sweaty shirt the rest of the way and shrugged into a hoodie.  
  
It took a while to get to know each other beyond their names, five minute snippets of conversation here and there. Like Frank, Mikey was too young to drive. Instead of taking the bus all alone, his older brother Gerard took him there and sat through the whole practice, even when it was hours. Sometimes he watched, but often he worked on Mikey's dance outfits, repairing or adding embellishments, sewing ribbons on his shoes.  
  
Frank talked a lot, explaining how he'd always wanted to be a ballerina. He'd been dancing since he was in preschool, and Mikey felt a little amateur next to him. Frank was there on a scholarship.  
  
The short conversations they shared turned into hours talking the day Frank's mom forgot him and he didn't have any bus money. It was pouring rain and Mikey had said he and his brother would wait for Frank's ride with him.  
  
After a while, Gerard had just said, "Fuck it. I'll just give you a ride."  
  
The studio wasn't closing for a couple hours yet, but it was impossible to miss the sky slowly growing darker. Mikey wasn't done hearing how Frank got into dance, but he was starving. Frank agreed, bitching good-naturedly as Mikey shoved aside empty cups and wrappers to make room for him to sit.  
  
Frank and Mikey were pretty caught up in an argument over what version of Phantom of the Opera was the coolest, so it wasn't until the car stopped in an unfamiliar driveway that Mikey realized Gerard hadn't taken Frank home. Gerard smiled over his shoulder, "Sorry, maybe I should have asked before kidnapping you. Come on, mama'll be getting ready to start dinner and you can call your folks inside."  
  
Frank stood in the unfamiliar kitchen, looking around as he toyed with the phone cord. "Hey, ma."  
  
Mikey poked around the fridge, half listening to Frank as he dug out snacks for them.  
  
"Um. Well, I got a ride from one of the other guys in my class. But his brother forgot and took me to their place. So I was wondering, could I stay the night?"  
  
Even Mikey could hear her answer. "Who is this boy? And did his parents say you could stay?" Mikey nodded from where he was rummaging through the fridge. Frankie mouthed out, _she's gonna want to talk to 'em_.  
  
Mikey held up a finger and vanished as Frank reassured her that Mikey was a good kid and his parents didn't mind, passing the phone off to Mrs. Way when Mikey reappeared with her.  
  
Gerard was already camped out in the basement in front of a tv, a stack of movies set out on the floor when Mikey led Frank downstairs. He made a face when he saw the bag of carrots tucked under Mikey's arm. "Come on, did mama tell you to feed me that health crap?"  
  
Mikey shrugged, throwing them at his brother, "She says it's almost dinner anyhow." There were times he'd just snack on what he wanted, but when their mom gave him that look and she was already letting Mikey have a friend over, he wasn't going to push his luck. He tugged the covers from the bed, nesting in a heap of pillows and blankets in front of the tv and passing the other guys cans of Coke.  
  
Frank looked at the movies scattered around Gerard. "Oh, dude, The Thing, seriously? We gotta watch that."  
  
Mikey groaned, "But we have the full set of Tremors! Gee never lets me watch them. We could totally marathon."  
  
Frank threw himself down against Mikey's side. "Next time!" He nudged Mikey's elbow away from his side and stole half the pillows. Mikey sighed resignedly as Gerard shoved a movie in, stealing a pillow back from Frank.  
  
They stayed up half the night watching movies, making stupid jokes, and giggling loudly. Their mother came down with pizza after a while and made her own jokes about how she never had to miss her own sleepover days with all this giggling.  
  
It became kind of a tradition, marathoning horror flicks and bad b-movies after Saturday dance practice. The jokes were lame, maybe, but it was like their own Mystery Science Theater.  
  
Of course, sometimes the fight scenes would lead to Frank and Mikey talking about what they had been learning in class, with Gerard struggling to keep up with the dance talk, but that was part of the fun. It was nice to have somebody else around who thought like that sometimes and caught those references.  
  
If he wasn't working on something else, Gerard would bring his sketchpad and just sit and draw the dancers for hours on end. He was really good; the figures on paper were never just dancers practicing in tights and leg warmers, but instead ended up as strangely elegant monsters that leapt about the page, or winged beings without faces that shone with a beautiful, unearthly light from under their bloody clothes.  
  
Sometimes Frank tried to copy the graceful poses of those paper-creatures, but he could never seem to get them just right, and often ended up sprawled on the floor panting instead. Mikey laughed at him, but Frank just made faces and tried again.  
  
It was like Gerard actually saw the images of the stories; when they performed Swan Lake, the sketches were a flurry of feathers, arms somehow turning into graceful curving necks. When he wasn't drawing, Gerard knit Frank and Mikey leg warmers to wear during practice; tights were not particularly warm, and it took a while to warm up.  
  
They would linger in the room after practice and offer each other pointers, Mikey stretching out across the floor, reaching for his toes because he tried to be careful. Frank was more likely to forget to stretch after, and often ended up regretting it when he was sore for days afterwards.  
  
Having been so absorbed with dancing from such a young age, Frank had never really had the opportunity or the inclination to become friends with any of the neighborhood kids his age. Mikey just shrugged off how clingy he could get; he liked having a best friend too.  
  
Mikey didn't mind when Frank borrowed his hoodies or pasted himself across his back while Mikey waited for Gerard to finish the sketch he'd been working on when practice finished. And on days when Frank was more vocal about how sore he was - some days he moaned more quietly, but on the worst days it was a stream of profanities not associated with ballet dancers - Mikey would grumble good-naturedly while massaging some of the knots out of Frank's calves.  
  
Frankie swore up and down that Mikeyway had magic fingers, and while getting massaged he couldn't seem to help broadcasting his adoration to everyone in the vicinity. Mikey, who was rather quiet and generally over-looked by the other students, always blushed at the unexpected attention, which only prompted Frank to be louder.  
  
The only other time Mikey wasn't overlooked was when he got a part beyond just the dance corps. Mikey was reliable, dedicated to memorizing his part. By the time they performed, Frank seemed to think Mikey could dance with his eyes closed if told to.  
  
Mikey had only been dancing a couple years; as someone who couldn't remember a time in his life when he hadn't been dancing, it seemed strange to Frank. Frank moved like, thought like, a dancer. Mikey didn't most of the time; it was like he'd already learned how to walk and couldn't relearn it the way he had learned to move through his positions, gliding and leaping with ease.  
  
Frank's awkward phase hadn't really hit. Mikey was pretty sure he'd been born in his, but Frank seemed to fit in his own skin. Sure, Frank was short and got made fun of, but it was junior high; he shrugged it off. Sometimes he'd get pissed and it showed in how he moved for hours, maybe even days, but it was hard to keep that kind of tension when Frank's body was trained not to.  
  
But because he never really felt awkward or self-conscious, both traits which led to his appointment at the Acad, Frank also never learned not to show off. It led to a fair amount of bruises and scrapes, but Frank would just laugh them off before focusing even harder on getting it right.  
  
After years of staring at the older dancers as they rehearsed and performed, Frank had hardly believed it when his teacher finally said he was ready for toe shoes. Mikey was told the same thing, and they celebrated with ice cream and another horror movie.  
  
It was a month after they'd gotten their toe shoes that the Acad announced their level would be performing Giselle. Mikey and Frank high-fived. A real, adult show, one with insanity, suicide, and supernatural creatures that weren't fairies. Not that there was anything wrong with fairies, but wilis were badass.  
  
Auditions came and passed quickly, Frank breezing past the others who tried out for the part of Giselle; he told Mikey it was the part he'd always wanted. He ragged on Mikey for not trying out for anything specific, but Mikey just rolled his eyes. He didn't mind not having solos – Mikey didn't want everyone to stare at him, on the off chance he screwed up. Instead, he was Frank's understudy.  
  
They showed up early to practice the next day, Frank hardly able to contain his excitement. Mikey pulled on his legwarmers and began his warm-up stretches, complaining to Frank about school; "We started reading The Odyssey. Dude, I read that years ago."  
  
Frank fidgeted with the ribbons to his pointe shoes, tying and retying them, finally tucking the ends away. At last Mikey looked up and he jumped to his feet. "Have you seen that one performance? You know, the one where Giselle's Grand Pas has a grand jete?"  
  
"The Russian one?" Mikey's eyes widened; the step was definitely on the list of things not to try without an instructor.  
  
Frank grinned. "It's easy, come on!" He danced across the room, pirouetting as he picked up speed before leaping, legs straight out. He quickly pulled his legs back in to land and Mikey stared, biting his lip as Frank's knee locked and he crashed to the floor.  
  
Mikey, who was generally pretty calm, was quietly freaking out next to Frank. Frank seemed almost dazed with pain. When the smallest motion of his leg triggered another knife of pain in his knee and Frankie fell back down on the floor, Mikey ran faster than he'd ever moved in his life to get a teacher.  
  
By the time Mikey got back, leading one of the instructors, Frank had goaded Gerard into helping him over to one of the benches. The teacher took one look at Frank and sent Mikey out to call his mother, "Tell her to meet us at the emergency room at St. James."  
  
Frank tried to protest, "It's not that bad, can't you just work your first aid magic?" But his puppy eyes and pout were apparently not as effective when he was working on not clenching his jaw in pain.  
  
The ride to the hospital was tense and terrifying. Frank may have been a show off, but he was by no means stupid; they all knew how bad knee injuries could be, knew how hard they could be to recover from, and knew that sometimes recovery just wasn't possible.  
  
The tension in the car was stifling; the teacher was angry and anxious, Frank was scared and defiant, and the Ways, since Gerard had bullied their way into the car along with Frankie, were sitting like polar opposites in the back seat as Gerard jittered and babbled and Mikey sat stiff, quiet and pale beside him.  
  
The only person moving was Gerard, his hands flailing as he talked about the weather; Mikey was trying not to think about Frank and how he might have lost his one friend from dance class.  
  
He missed the silence when they walked up to the hospital and Frank's mother was there, lips pursed and arms crossed like she was holding in a major scolding. Mikey should have tried to stop him; he didn't need her reproachful look to think so.  
  
The teacher got Frank a wheelchair as they waited and Mikey pushed him around, running when the adults were distracted. It wasn't much of a distraction, but Frank seemed grateful anyhow; at least it kept him away from the inevitable lectures.  
  
Mikey bent down and mumbled strategies in his ear for what to do in case the zombie uprising began in that hospital. In the basement at the Ways' house, there were elaborate plans covered with helpful sketches by Gerard and Mikey's scratchy handwriting explaining where to go, what to bring, and what would make the best weapons.  
  
But even Mikey's best zombie defense strategies couldn't keep Frank's name from being called, so he had to relinquish his task of pushing the wheelchair to a nurse. Frank waved reassuringly as Mikey sat down next to his brother in the cold, stiff waiting room and Mrs. Iero followed the nurse through the ER doors.  
  
The waiting room was cold and boring, the magazines all old and completely uninteresting. The teacher had gone back to the Dance Acad and there was nothing to distract from thoughts of Frank and what the doctors might tell him. Mikey sat curled up in his chair, fidgeting, not even trying to convince himself he wasn't worried.  
  
Gerard flicked his arm and Mikey unfolded enough to turn, scowling. "What?" Gerard shrugged helplessly.  
  
"I dunno, Mikey." There was a long pause and Mikey ducked his head against his knees again. "Why don't you show me how to do that...whatsit, the thing you learned on Thursday?"  
  
Mikey glanced around the waiting room, half filled with people. "Um. Or no."  
  
But Gerard kept asking, kept nudging him to do something, so eventually Mikey straightened out and moved to the floor, beginning his stretches. He'd forgotten to change his shoes, in too big a hurry to get Frank here; toeshoes weren't meant to be worn outside, but at least it meant Mikey had the right shoes with him.  
  
Mikey used the chairbacks to practice his barrework like he and Frank sometimes did at home. He swept his leg forwards and backwards, feet settling in first position. Most of what he was doing were typical warm-ups, the same warm-ups he'd been doing for years. There was something soothing to the pattern of them.  
  
Eyes shut, he did his barrework again, before moving away from the chairs to the floor. The grooves in the tiles weren't familiar, but he avoided them as he tried some of the moves they'd been working on in class. Mikey felt less jittery by the time he was done, and started his cooldown exercises. He still hated the waiting.  
  
By the time Frank's mom emerged, it was long dark outside. Gerard had called their mother and reassured her that they were fine, but that Mikey didn't want to leave until he saw Frankie. Mrs. Iero led them down the bright corridor, past closed doors and around corners. It was easy to get lost there.  
  
The door she finally paused beside was open, and inside there was a tv babbling. She walked in and crossed her arms and the Ways followed. Frank was propped up in the bed, eyes shiny. He spread his arms, "Come on, guys, don't I get a damn hug or anything?"  
  
After the hug, Mikey perched on the edge of the bed. "Are you-?" He carefully didn't touch Frank's leg.  
  
Frank winced. "The doc says..." He paused, bit his lip, "He says they don't know. They couldn't really see anything because everything's so swollen, so we won't know if anything's...torn until then."  
  
Anything else would be easy enough to recover from. More time-consuming than Frank would like, but still not a huge deal. But if something had torn... He didn't have to say it for everyone to know it might mean he wouldn't be able to dance again, at least not as much as he had been.  
  
Under the effects of the painkillers, Frank seemed scared. Mikey hugged him again, not knowing how to reassure him. If even the doctors couldn't tell him he'd be okay, then Mikey definitely couldn't.  
  
They didn't stay long; Frank was dozing off and Gerard pointed out their mom would probably show up with food or something if they didn't get home.  
  
Mikey called Frank's house as soon as he got home from lessons the next day. He was nervous, but he wouldn't get any less nervous until he knew how Frank was doing.  
  
Frank's mom answered, and there was a long silence as Mikey waited for her to get Frank for him. "Hey, Mikey," Frank said.  
  
"Hey." There was a pause, as Mikey tried to figure out how to ask. "So…"  
  
"They sent me to a sports medicine specialist. He says we got three options for surgery."  
  
"Fuck," Mikey whispered. "Surgery?" He'd known Frank was hurt bad, but he hadn't thought it was that bad.  
  
"I, uh. It turns out that ignoring a little pain leads to worse injuries?" He sounded almost sheepish. "Yeah. The doc says I tore…something, I forget what he called it, and part of it had broke off and that's why my knee locked and fucked up worse."  
  
Mikey winced. Sometimes Frank exaggerated, but that sounded pretty believable. "But surgery, you'll be back on your feet before too long, right?"  
  
"…I hope so?" With a leg injury, it would be weeks before he recovered, and Mikey wasn't sure how he'd have anywhere near as much fun with Frank out of class that long.  
  
By the time Frank was recovered enough to go to the studio, Mikey was beginning to learn the part of Giselle. It was hard not to be a little self-conscious knowing Frank was watching. Mikey could tell Frank would dance the part much better.  
  
He was happy Frank showed up though, even if Mikey worried he wasn't measuring up. He was learning the different steps just fine, but he couldn't seem to fit them together right.  
  
"No, Michael," the choreographer chided, "You must be lighter on your feet, ethereal! You're a wili, a betrayed spirit, not some peasant girl anymore."  
  
Mikey bit his lip, ducking his head before straightening and moving through the grand pas again. He knew he wasn't as good as Frank, but it wasn't his fault Frank got hurt and if they really minded his dancing so much, they should have recast one of the girls in the lead. Mikey missed the corps, where no one was focused on him specifically.  
  
He was getting tired, moving through such swift leg movements over and over. Even without looking over, Mikey could sense the choreographer was still displeased with his efforts. At last he was dismissed, and Mikey snatched a towel from on top of his bag at the side of the room, wiping off some of his sweat before he began his cooldown stretches.  
  
Once he was finished stretching, Mikey crossed to where Frank and Gerard had been watching. He dropped on the bench next to them, deciding he could wait to get changed. "I suck."  
  
Frank stared at Mikey's shoes, not bothering to hide how he missed his own. "Yeah right. You just need to work on relaxing more."  
  
Mikey gave him a dubious look. "Relaxed isn't good. I just need to work at it more."  
  
"Screw that." He flung Mikey's towel into his face, snickering as Mikey peeled away the sweaty material. "Come on, I can coach you or whatever."  
  
With how much Frank missed dancing, Mikey wasn't going to tell him no, even if he did think the professional choreographer probably knew better than Frank.  
  
Frank's idea of coaching didn't make sense to Mikey. It was just like any other time they hung out, minus the promise of B-movies later. After grabbing a snack, Frank put on loud music. Dorky dance moves followed, if from a seated position, Frank kicking Mikey's ankle with his one good foot until Mikey rolled his eyes and joined in.  
  
After a while, Frank changed the music to classical, to the piece Mikey had been working on for the show. "You know what you're doing," he explained, "So quit thinking about it and just do it, alright?" He stayed on his feet, watching as Mikey began his stretches.  
  
Frank looked like he was almost buzzing; he kept moving like he was about to demonstrate, then stopping and touching his knee as a reminder. "Close your eyes." Mikey looked doubtful. "You're in the middle of the room, I'll let you know if you're gonna smack into something. Just trust me, okay?"  
  
Mikey didn't know what else to do, so he complied. "The instructors are gonna be so pissed when they lose both of us to stupid injuries this season," he pointed out, nervously starting to dance his part along with the music.  
  
"Use the force," Frank suggested, snickering to himself. "Don't be so half-assed about it, you're not going to kick over one of my mom's lamps."  
  
Sighing, Mikey fully extended his leg and barely missed the coatrack. He could feel the sleeves brush against his ankle.  
  
"Or if you do, she'll think it was me with the crutches anyhow," Frank hastily admitted.  
  
Mikey lowered his leg and opened his eyes. "For the record, that's not very reassuring." He shifted further away from the couch and returned his feet to first position. He stood and waited for several measures before beginning to dance again.  
  
Exhausting as it was, Mikey continued his dance schedule, lessons four days a week, practice with Frank the other three. Frank seemed to think he was getting better, and the snappish choreographer mellowed out some, though Mikey wasn't sure he hadn't just gotten frustrated and given up on him.  
  
The schedule changed, adjusting as the performance date drew nearer. Both level four classes started dancing together, the ones en pointe as well as those in regular slippers. There were a couple more boys in that class, dancing the part of the lover who betrays Giselle and the gamekeeper who reveals his deceit, parts never designed for pointe.  
  
It was nice to be dancing with other boys again, but Mikey still wished Frank could be dancing with them. Besides, dancing with them made Mikey's nerves come back a little because he was supposed to have a grand pas with Bob where he was lifted. There wasn't any way for Frank to help him practice that part.  
  
Frank was frustrated by Mikey's returning tension, and so was the choreographer. Mikey was too, but he didn't know what to do about it, so he just set his jaw and kept dancing. Bob didn't seem to mind though, when Mikey slipped up or a move didn't work because they weren't working together right. It made it easier to relax a little again.  
  
Even when Mikey completely flubbed, Bob managed to catch him before he hit the floor, so within a couple weeks Mikey was actually trusting his partner. Bob would offer tips, a different perspective since he wasn't a pointe dancer. It helped, and Mikey offered his own advice from time to time.  
  
Rehearsals moved from the studio to the stage, and at the beginning and end of class every day there was a flurry of discussion as everyone compared their costumes and discussed what was needed with the instructor and choreographer.  
  
Gerard positively sparkled all the time from the extra glitter he was putting on Mikey's wili costume, and he bitched about how his fingers hurt from all the sewing. But he smiled, and at the dinner table their family talked about Mikey's upcoming recital constantly.  
  
Mikey was getting nervous; he'd never had a recital where he was the lead. His whole family was planning to come, not just his parents and his grandma, but aunts and uncles and cousins. He was pretty sure he'd overheard them talking about a videocamera.  
  
He couldn't stop them from coming though, so Mikey tried to focus on his dancing. The other guys talked him through his nerves as best they could, and before they knew it, the performance was there and they couldn't do anything more.  
  
Taking deep breaths, Mikey tried to remember what he'd done in Frank's living room, shutting his eyes and trying not to look at the audience even to find his family.  
  
Bob met his eyes and nodded, just a hair. Mikey smiled, the grimace fading from his face as he and Bob shadowed each other's movements. It was easier to breathe with his focus back on the stage. Mikey tried to remember all the advice he'd been given.  
  
It was hard not to overthink his moves, and Mikey could feel how stiff his dancing had become, but he didn't know how to fix it.  
  
Between acts, Mikey tugged off one costume and tugged on another. His fingers were nervous; he couldn't get his ribbons retied properly.  
  
Bob had a towel slung around his shoulders, and crouched down, taking the ribbons from Mikey. "I know it's your first time as lead, but seriously, forget all that stuff. The advice, the audience, it doesn't matter."  
  
The pep talk was simple, but hearing it from another dancer helped. Mikey peeked at the crowd from the edges of the curtain, taking deep breaths before getting into position. He tried to focus on the music this time, the rhythm.  
  
A couple times, Mikey stumbled, but he caught himself and lost himself in the dance again. The finale seemed to come too soon and he bowed, breathless, not really hearing the applause.  
  
Gerard was waiting outside the stage door, a bouquet of roses in his arms. "For our prima donna ballerina," he explained, hurrying Mikey out towards where the other families were leaving the auditorium. "Oh, fuck, before I forget, you gotta sign my program."  
  
Mikey rolled his eyes, but took the pen from his brother and scrawled his name on the cover. He flipped through it, finally handing the program back when he was satisfied. "It was nice of them to put in the thing dedicating the show to Frankie."  
  
Frank was finally off crutches, had been for a couple weeks, but still couldn't dance. He bitched a lot about his physical therapy, and insisted the guy was a sadist. Mikey rolled his eyes at Frank a lot, but it was hard not to smile every day when Frank looked stronger.  
  
Mikey snagged his own program and got Frank to sign it, sharing one of Gerard's roses with him. He blinked when Frank handed him another bouquet. "Thanks for letting me whatever, bro."  
  
"Yeah, no, thank you," Mikey shrugged. "Next time are they gonna let you up there with me though?"  
  
Slinging an arm around his shoulders, Frank beamed. "Hell yeah. I gotta try and take it easy and build up my strength for the summer, but I should be back in the studio come September."  
  
Walking out of the building and out to the parking lot, dance bag slung over his shoulder, Mikey felt like a real dancer. The next show could only be better.

**Author's Note:**

> Just relocating fics from lj, haven't reread, hope it's still enjoyable!


End file.
